


Nightmare in Sanity

by Daedamnatus



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Affection, Combat, Dark Humor, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gore, Slow Burn, Survival, The Ancients - Freeform, Trauma, Violence, strigoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daedamnatus/pseuds/Daedamnatus
Summary: Amaya is barely keeping her head above the surface that her life is thrown back into chaos in a nightmare of street fights and losing her family.But her luck turns and she finds a new family: the Sun Hunters.





	1. Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is born of a whimsical conversation with a friend and I completely forgot why we felt there was a need for Lar to have his own fanfic/story/ship. We just agreed that he is a cool character in the show and there's just nothing on him at the moment.

She'd never seen crazier things during the night, and this was day time. 

A sickly pale woman had suddenly decided to take the crying baby she was pushing in her stroller. It was the middle or winter and she just took out the small kid from the comfort of its blankets. The mother - she assumed - leaned forward, shaking, and after a few seconds she opened her mouth. 

It opened until she thought her jaw was going to fall right off and a long weird thing came out of it. It reared like a snake and struck the baby into its neck. 

“Hey!” Amaya shouted from across the street. “What the hell, lady? Stop!”

Checking quickly for incoming traffic, she darted across the road and saw up close what was going on. The tube or dark flesh was pumping blood out of the infant and the mother was gorging herself, completely draining her kid. Consumed with horror and primal instinct to protect, Amaya punched the woman in the jaw. Caught by surprise she - the sickly human baby-eating monster - screeched at her, blood dripping from her torn lips. She dropped the unmoving baby in its stroller and turned her wicked attention on Amaya. 

“Oh, shit!” 

She threw another look at the baby: it was too late. The poor thing was gray, ashen, dead. It was probably in a better place. 

So she ran down the street, between passing cars and she looked over her shoulder occasionally. 

The freak, blood-sucking mother was still after her, hissing and growling like she had rabies. 

She saw people on the sidewalk in front of her and they turned to look at her and her pursuer. 

“Move!” she shouted but the three men just stood there agape and stupid as they watched a woman being chased by apparently another woman. 

Damnit, she was out of shape. It had been three months since she went to a gym. Sure, the last one had been inside and she had nothing else better to do. But cardio wasn't her thing. 

Amaya knew she couldn't lose the crazy bitch on her tail so she turned at an alley, caught her breath and while she did that, her eyes looked around for something to do some damage. 

The screeching and hissing arrived at the corner of the building and the horrid sounds of  _ whateverthefuck _ stopped dead at the collision with a steel pipe. 

She looked at the sick woman and her head was smashed in, cracked at the eye sockets and instead of blood she was full of a disgusting thick white fluid and gray worms that made her want to barf right there. 

Amaya moved back into the alley, still clenching her white-stained pipe and tried to vomit next to overflowing garbage bins. 

Sadly she hadn't eaten much that day. Rent was due soon. She was just a little tight on payments and her check was differed by five days. 

Bankster corporations playing roulette with her paychecks.

The usual sounds of the streets filled her perception again and she became aware of how much sirens and honking was going that night. It was a circus. People were shouting and screaming words she couldn't make out in her daze and rush of adrenaline. 

She shook the white stuff off of her makeshift blunt weapon. That sure wasn't very legal now, was it? What would her parole officer say about that? Assault and battery on a crazy maniac that ate her own child. Would she get clemency if she showed the gray, stiff and dead baby to the judge? 

By the time she got back her senses she turned and saw the very standing, very alive sicko with her deformed cranium, loose balding head and an eyeball sticking out. 

Amaya clutched at her steel pipe like a baseball bat. It was four feet long and she had to get close to really get this done once and for all. 

“You had your appetizer, huh? Well, I won't be the main course!”

The tube thing jumped out of the sicko mouth, deployed fangs and a huge pointy needle. The whole thing caught around the pipe as Amaya whacked it away from her face. The hissing and screaming nearly pierced her eardrums and she kept beating the monster with her stick, going up to its roots and breaking the neck of her attacker this time. 

She ran away. She had to. If she left the pipe there the cops would find her prints and she could kiss her parole bye-bye. 

But a scared girl running down the streets with a dirty white blunt object was not a good report for her standing either. 

A screaming perhaps a block away broke her trail of thought and she got out the alley to see people running, men and women alike screaming for help. She looked the opposite way and found the origin of the screaming on the sidewalk: three no- four men hungrily mauling another. Fleshy tubes things had bitten him at the neck, at his torso where his clothes were shredded. 

“I'm in hell…” she told herself, her voice unable to go louder than a whisper. 

Footsteps came from the alleyway behind her and stopped. Amaya looked around and saw a tall man in a long black coat, bald and white-skinned. More white than normal for sure. His ears were shaped like that of an elf and his face was deformed, almost like he was wearing a really scary Halloween mask. He was looking at the dead sick woman she had killed. Frozen in place, Amaya felt her heart racing as he looked up at her.

His eyes… turned her blood into ice in her veins. She darted down the street, sprinting as fast as she could.

Down three blocks she hurriedly climbed the stairs to her mother’s apartment, almost dropping her keys as she opened the front the door. 

“Mom!” she called out. “We have to get out of town. It’s hell out there!”

The TV was running and she rushed for the living room. The place was in disarray, the potted plant next to the couch was fallen and soil was all over the floor. The coffee table was moved and.

“Mom, no!”

Down on her knees she didn’t feel herself falling as she saw the motionless body of what she recognized as her mother. It looked like her. She refused to believe it was her. The usually brownish skin was now gray, the cheeks gaunt and manicured hands limp. The way she lay on the couch almost like she was sleeping gave Amaya no hope. 

The urge to go to her and touch her was strong, but something was wrong. She couldn’t move.

Sirens blared across the whole apartment and she realized a window was open. Shards of glass littered the space behind the TV. 

Still holding her precious pipe, Amaya scouted her home room by room. If a sicko was still around, she’d deal with it on the spot.

Her mother would be avenged. And if she couldn’t do that, she’d probably be okay to find her mother, wherever that may be.

She heard something in the kitchen, a rattle like an alligator growling but she couldn’t see over the counter. Moving around carefully, she saw the thing crouching over itself, a bald man in a sweaty blue shirt. His ears were pointy like an elf. He jerked his head up as he heard her and snapped his head around.

Pitch-black eyes were on her and she clenched her teeth, grunting as she swung her weapon hard into the sicko’s head. He staggered but screeched at her and lunged after her. Amaya stepped back and tried to swing at him again but he dodged her strike and bolted into her midsection, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“Let go of me, asshole!”

She struck him with the end of her stick into his forehead. Once freed, she used two high-kicks to make him fall to his back. There were the knife sets on the kitchen counter and she grabbed the meat cleaver. She never liked cutting meat but this time she was going to make an exception.

The skull gave in easily when she attacked the sicko. White stuff sprayed on her and worms escaped from the cracked forehead. She ran from the whole situation, dropping the knife.

Back to her room, she collected her backpack, stuffed her laptop, a t-shirt, sweater, jeans and some underwear before heading out. On her way to the door she stopped to the bathroom and took a bunch of painkillers, vitamins and nasal spray. From the kitchen she took a half-empty bottle of gin. You never know when you need to improvise and make someone a cocktail. With all of this, she grabbed the meat cleaver and another kitchen knife that she wrapped around her belt with a scarf.

Once she was moderately weighed with her load she didn’t forget her steel pipe and headed out. Not daring to look over her shoulder towards couched, she repressed her sorrow and sadness and pulled open the front door.

She got out of the building and went down the stairs, not so quickly that she would draw attention on her, but fast enough to get as far away and as fast as she could.

She cursed not having a car, also cursing not having a gun right now. What did it matter when sirens were on non-stop, and she could hear firefights in the distance, in this chaos it didn’t matter what a twenty-seven year-old chick could do to protect herself. Every convenient stores on her block had drawn their steel curtains and closed up shop. There would be looting going on, she knew that much about chaotic scenarios.

Amaya didn’t know where to go for safety, she didn’t even want to find safety if that meant fighting off anyone for food and shelter. She just kept walking, keeping to the shadows, because hell knew what other types of sickos would take advantage of a lone female walking down the street. It didn’t matter what she could do to thwart an attack on her, she didn’t want to deal with that now.

Mom was dead. She was gone. It was over. 

Her heart did a number on her again, making her eardrums pulse madly and she found herself breathing too hard, too fast. Amaya hurried to hide down a stairway to a basement. She didn’t care what was behind that locked door. She sat down on the last step and covered her ears, letting her black curls cover her face as she let out a long, high-pitched whimper.

She had lost her only family, the only person that mattered in her life - she just  _ left her there _ . But in her heart it was what mom would have wanted. She would have yelled at her for staying home instead of finding a way to survive this nightmare. She would have scolded and lectured her like the many times she did when visiting her in prison. 

Perhaps the minimal comfort of her cell, the wretched place she called her home for six months would be preferable to this. 

Her heart seemed to calm after a few minutes and she dried her face, fixing her hair behind her ears. 

Now she remembered that she hadn’t packed any tissues. That was just great. Mom would have made fun of her.

Amaya wiped her nose and face with the sleeve of her parka and got up. Turned around.

The air escaped her lungs even though she tried to gasp and she widened her eyes at the tall figure standing at the top of the stairs. Those white eyes stared at her, and that hard, monstrous face…

She was not in a good position, he had the high ground. Her hand reached for her knife and she waited before showing what she had there. With a little luck, he would think she had a gun.

“Why are you following me!” she screamed but her voice was tight from all of that sissy-crying. “Who are you?”

The sicko man just stood there, arms to his side. She noticed he had weapons, at least two handguns at his sides, and that bone-thing in his back.

What the…

He blinked slowly and turned on his heels to walk away. There were silver blades sticking out from his boots. Yes, that gait meant he was packing heat. 

Amaya cursed at herself and her mad curiosity. What the heck, she had nothing left to lose, and this guy - this…  _ thing _ . He looked like he could help.

“Hey, wait!” she called at him, going after this weird-looking stranger. She shouted even louder. “ _ Hey! _ ”

Her voice echoed in the alley and she felt a pang of shame. Damn  _ latina _ temper. She knew better but, all things considered... He finally stopped but didn’t turn. She was left having to talk to the back of his discolored, scratched up head.

“You followed me all the way from four blocks and you saw what I can do,” she continued at the weird man. He looked sick. “Why are you walking away now? You scared?”

She almost stepped back when he turned around to face her. He was way taller than she expected, or maybe it was the way he looked down at her smallish figure, sizing her up and down. His lips twisted to a smirk over gray sharp teeth. 

His voice was deep when he spoke, and his accent caught her by surprise. She wasn’t expecting to speak to a Brit.

“The only scared being I see here is standing in front of me.” His white irised eyes studied her when he paused. “I thought I had found a worthy fighter. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Worthy…” she repeated, puzzled. “Worthy of what?”

“Of life,” he replied without hesitation. As sunlight danced over the high window panes of the buildings, she noticed with the mirrored reflection that his white eyes had blue shades to them. He continued, undisturbed. “If you can defend yourself then maybe there is hope for humanity.”

Amaya tried to contain her sigh of despair, remembering her mother - not gray and dead, but radiant and beautiful, when she was happy - and trying hard not to let her pain show and she swallowed.

“The pain you feel,” the creature spoke again, “remember it. Numbness is when you stop fighting.”

“Who are you?” she asked, frustrated in not knowing what was going on. 

His mouth looked scarred, almost as if it was cut side to side like the Joker. He smiled to her.

“Quinlan.” 

He looked down for a second and took a step closer but she backed away, hands not far from her sides where she kept her knives. He took another step sideways and this time he stood in the shade. 

“You are Amaya Reyes.”

“What the hell…” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes up to the sky. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve lived a long time, leading the fight against the Master, the one who corrupts and destroys life with this… plague.” He was obviously ignoring her question. “He can be defeated, Miss Reyes, if we are willing to work together.”

She gritted her molars, skeptical.

She was alone, lost, with nothing but the clothes on her back and a couple of kitchen knives.

He had guns.

“I’m not signing anything without some form of insurance,” she said. “How do I know you’re not some pervert... or just another sicko, playing with his food?”

“If you choose to fight alone you may find yourself in a precarious situation. This city is unforgiving, especially for a lonesome, as pretty a lady as you.” 

Amaya knew she was making a pissed off face right then and waited for him to say the one thing that would give away the truth. For now, this was just as good as bullshit. 

He moved again, pacing a step closer. The temptation to run off again was strong, but she stood her ground. His voice softened and he narrowed his eyes

“There are a few others like you. Humans, scientists…  _ hunters _ devoting their lives for this purpose. Without them, all sacrifices would be in vain.”

“I’m no scientist or hunter,” Amaya retorted bitterly. “I’m barely employable.”

There were gunshots perhaps a hundred yards from them. She turned her head, wary of possible dangers coming from the main road. She looked back at the man calling himself Quinlan. He was still gazing calmly at her.

“Miss Reyes, your skills depend entirely on your determination. I believe you’ve already proven yourself capable.”

She had indeed proven to herself that she could get around throwing her fists and tearing shit up when walking in the wrong hallway at the wrong time. But getting into prison brawls was one thing…

The Quinlan man was walking away towards the streets while she had zoned out in carceral nostalgia. A big black Mercedes stopped dead at his level and he entered the car.

“Hey!” she called him again, jogging after him.

She grabbed the passenger door handle. It was actually a Cadillac. The doors unlocked and she was allowed on the backseat. She moved to the driver’s side because the freakishly tall guy had backed up his seat to the max. The driver was a black girl with short cropped hair and a leather jacket. She eyed her through the rearview mirror.

“So, um…” Amaya hesitated. “It’s not like me to hitchhike.”

“Got your own car?” snapped back the driver.

Amaya returned her hard stare and put her backpack on the floor mat.

“Nope.”

The engine roared as the car bolted down the lanes, she was pushed into the back of her seat and she fidgeted to strap herself in. 

It was one of the craziest driving she’d ever experienced, or maybe she’d long forgotten what it was like to sit in the back. But she nearly felt ill when they finally stopped.

Quinlan was out first and walked ahead in a big garage space. Finding her balance again, Amaya slung her backpack over her shoulders and looked around to see half a dozen black SUVs parked beside the Cadillac. The black girl stood near her car and crossed her arms.

“What are you still doing here?”

There was no point asking questions when she obviously didn’t look chatty. She walked after her guide that didn’t want to stop or even slow down. They were in a dark tunnel, somewhere underground. He called an old elevator which looked like it was meant for industrial work but the place was deserted.

“So, who owns those SUVs?” she idly asked.

“That would be the Ancients.”

He entered and waited for her to get in the elevator before closing the gates and sending them down the shaft.

“Ancient what? Shamans? Sorcerers?” she smiled to herself, proud of her creativity. “Dinosaurs?”

She was standing beside him but she could see his white eyes rolling up as he sighed. When he answered her, she felt as if he was trying not to say anything dumb.

“They are not as old as dinosaurs.”

It was too late. She was picturing a bunch of dinosaurs riding in black SUVs, drive-by shooting their assault rifles at sicko monsters in the streets.

“What’s the deal with me, now? Do I get weapons?”

The elevator stopped at God knew how deep they were under the city, and he opened the gate before speaking.

“I advise you to mind your tongue while in the presence of the Ancients. While they may not be… amicable, it’s suggested to show a minimum of respect.”

They walked in the dark again until Amaya felt like asking when someone would think about switching on the lights. But they arrived in a large enough room to hold a boxing ring and spectator seats.

And finally the lights went on.

“Holy sh-”

She was amazed and horrified at the same time. Three naked guys in wrinkly bloody skin and pointy ears were perched up on stools with their arms across their gross bodies. Their claws were long and disgusting. The smell was strong and she didn’t know whether she should cover her nose or her mouth without choking. The concrete floor was stained with blood but it smelled worse than that.

“I’ve returned with what you asked of me,” the tall white guy spoke up, provocatively spreading his arms. 

He stretched out a gloved hand towards her.

“Amaya Reyes. She received some combat training.” He tilted his head and pressed his lips into a smirk. “Unconventional training, but it qualifies. And it’s still more achieved in six months than what you three dreamers have done in seventy years!”

Someone stormed in to interrupt his tirade. Another white bald dude wearing black, but he was short and his weapons weren’t concealed. Amaya spotted the gun and long knife at his belt.

“What is the meaning of this?” he uttered angrily. 

His hands were in tactical armored gloves, riot gear. He only lacked a helmet and riot shield and Amaya would have been out of there in a heartbeat. His eyes were pitch-black and she didn’t fail to notice his little white fangs.

Quinlan turned on his heels to face the three naked weirdos with their bloody limbs. Looking around him with contempt, he took a few paces around a sewage hatch.

“If you have any questions, you know who to ask,” said the British weirdo. “I’ve done my part.”

Other weirdo had a slight accent that Amaya didn’t know. Quinlan was gone into the darkness. She was left with the weirdo in police gear, he pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked a few times before staring at her from head to toe.

“What the hell is going on?” she flatly asked.

He sighed and she heard a simultaneous low growl. Everything was turning upside down in her mind, she was beginning to question her decision, to doubt ever following her instinct. She thought of mom and what she would say then...

“It’s not your concern,” he hissed and walked away into a different hallway. “Come.”

The darkness disturbed her and she was slightly afraid of tripping on something, missing a step and falling on her face like a drunk. She blew air out of her mouth and tried not to complain too hard.

“How can you see around here?”

Her new guide slowed down and looked at her. 

“There’s nothing to see. Only listen, pay attention. If Quinlan brought you here there must be something worthwhile about you.”

“He seems to know a whole lot about me. Then he drops me off and just leaves? What’s his deal?”

“Quinlan is over two thousand years old,” he told her irritably. “We’re no longer asking him those questions.”

A short laugh escaped her but she stopped herself, feeling completely at a loss. Was this all even real anymore? Had she tripped and fell into the twilight zone and was surrounded by weird vampire-like commandos? Had she gone insane from grief? 

While they were walking she slowed to a stop, and the man in combat armor waited for her, raising a hairless brow. Her head was full of mixed thoughts and questions and presumptions about what was going to happen to her. Amaya just stood there.

He looked down and came to hold her elbow, edging her to continue walking. His attention was straight ahead as he spoke.

“We can lend you a place to rest, so you can pull yourself together.”

Her arm was warming up from the contact of his hand. Even through his glove and her thick parka she was shocked to feel such heat coming from him.

“How do you do that?” she asked, looking at him up close. “Are you sick?”

He pursed his lips, puzzled by her concern and let go of her arm.

“I am strigoi.” His black eyes studied her as they stopped walking again. “Didn’t Quinlan tell you already?”

“What is  _ strigoi _ ?”

His body moved away at the question. Amaya grew tired of the lack of explaining going around there. He raised a palm up and leaned forward with worry.

“Are you sure you are the one Quinlan was looking for?”

She took offense to that. “I’m pretty damn sure I know my name. What I don’t know is who, or what  _ you _ are.”

This time she was the one to size him up with her accusing gaze.

“I’m a Sun Hunter,” he flat out answered. “Like you are supposed to be once we establish an understanding.”

“Well, I understand that I’m stuck in the bowels of the earth with a bunch of albinos and their dinosaur granpas with no peen.”

She let her voice trail off at the look of disgust she got from him. He shut his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

“Alright… I’ll just let you get some rest, then you can ask your questions later.”

He brought her to a hallway where there were doors. Metal doors like in a submarine, and the room was nothing but concrete walls, a grated fan for air ventilation, a small desk, a cot with linens and a simple blanket. The single light bulb at the ceiling looked like it hadn’t been changed in a decade. It smelled a little damp. In one corner there was a bucket.

“Nice,” she turned around and said to him. 

He stood in the door frame and vaguely motioned towards the hallway. 

“If you need anything just ask. I’ll hear it.”

“Sure, okay. I’ll try not to wake up your Ancestors.”

His brow creased in the middle as he almost looked sad at her ignorance.

“You mean the Ancients?”

Shrugging, Amaya dropped her bag on the desk and it produced a heavy thud, reminding her of the bottle of alcohol in it.

His prying black eyes went from her backpack to her face, then he entered the room and stood beside her.

“I’m going to search your bag.”

That was it, she stood rigid and dug her hands into her pockets, hiding under her coat the two knives at her belt.

“Go ahead, narc.”

After looking back at her with mirrored scorn he turned over the bag and emptied its contents on the table. He caught the bottle before dropping it and inspected the label. Then he took interest in the medicine for a second. Amaya sighed and groaned when he grabbed her underwear and stuffed it all back in her backpack. He confiscated the bottle.

“You’re not starting a fire in here.” He headed back outside.

“What if I want to get shitfaced?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Stopping at the door she waited as he appeared to ponder her request. Either way, she wasn’t going to spend her day napping or feeling sorry for herself. She needed something to do.

“I’ll be here,” he said, tilting his head towards the hall. “You have a lot on your mind and I’ll... understand if you need to talk.”

She blinked several times, feeling moisture gathering in her eyelids so she looked at the spider webs in the corners of the ceiling.

“Your name is Amaya?” he continued.

“Yes,” she dryly replied.

He took in a breath through his nostrils and held the door knob. He hesitated.

“My name’s Lar.”

She felt herself cocking an eyebrow upon hearing it.

“That’s it? Just  _ Lar _ ?”

It sounded like he didn’t want to say more, or to tell the entire story about why his name was so short. He made a rattling noise with his throat and she felt a tremor in her spine. When he spoke again, her eyes had widened and he was about to shut the door behind him.

“Rest well, Amaya.”


	2. Guardians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lar looks after Amaya and learns to deal with her personality, ending up telling his own story as they build trust.

Chapter 2: Guardians

 

Lar opened the industrial incinerator and tossed the bottle of alcohol into the flames, hearing the glass break as it met the blazing heat of the fire. The flammable liquid inside caused a ball of heat and he pushed the heavy lid closed.

Amaya. The name had rolled off his tongue like he had always spoken it and he understood that she needed time to adjust. He pushed it in the back of his mind for now. 

There were more conventional ways to recruit a hunter: in the midst of battle, plucked from a secluded area, blindfolded and driven directly to the lair for interrogation. He hadn't the slightest idea of who she was and what she was capable of, and why Quinlan had been tasked to find her. Vaun and the other Hunters were dispatched to try to contain the outbreak, but they were spreading themselves thin.

Lar found the door to his office ajar with the trail scent of the Born. Pausing, he let his stinger produce a cackling sigh before calling out the intruder. 

“You could have warned us about the girl.”

Standing in front of the central shelf, Quinlan turned to face to him, holding a leather-bound manifest from twelfth century Scotland. 

“Why would I concern myself with the miscommunications in this lair?” he flatly answered, a gloved finger tracing the text on the medieval parchment. His crooked smile revealed grayed fangs as he read it out. “It says here that the strigoi found in northern Europe took possession of barbarian human hosts to expand their reach over civilized society, to further the dominion of their master… Satan.”

“The Master,” Lar corrected. 

“So it appears.” 

He closed the book and placed it back in its case. A couple of bats flew away from the disruption and found shelter at the top of a different case to hunt the parasites feeding off of the old pages of the archive room. 

“You're looking for something,” Lar observed. “It is not here.”

“You're right,” Quinlan said with a cocky expression, one index raised before he moved around the library desks. “If the Ancients knew how to find and destroy the Master they would have told me long ago.”

Lar returned his sarcastic snarl. “Instead I find you here, going through our records. We're not hiding anything from you.”

His white eyes set on him, absorbing each movement, every detail committed to memory. Quinlan was old enough to have been an eyewitness to history itself. He wasn't here to learn anything new. 

“And what do you believe? Without the Ancients to dictate their thoughts and wishes, you have your own mind and conscience, don't you?”

It was a provocation Lar had no patience to handle. Beyond their common foe, Quinlan served his own interests, he had no loyalty.

“I serve a greater purpose, maybe that’s something you won’t abide.”

“And once we defeat the Master, you will tell me about your…  _ greater _ purpose.”

Lar flared his nostrils at the scorn in Quinlan's tone. They would have time to sort through their differences later. 

“Why did they send you specifically to retrieve the girl?”

The question had come from the top of his head and ignored the Born’s amused look. 

“So they're not telling you everything either.”

“You survived for two millennia making these astute observations?” Lar spoke back to him. 

Quinlan dug his hands into his pockets before moving towards him. 

“My mere existence vexes you. How long has it been since you last roamed the earth freely, Sun Hunter?”

“No one asks you where you decide to spend your daylight time,” Lar groaned back at him. “And if you made yourself more accountable there would be no need to have you pick up strays.”

He heard him groan through his stinger before he grudgingly passed him through the door. Lar turned with a glare of satisfaction. 

“Where are you going now, Born?”

“For a drink,” shot back the Half-breed with his British accent. “You should come along.”

“In the daytime? You must be mad.”

Quinlan continued speaking in the reverberating hallway. 

“Then stay here, not knowing what your masters have tasked me to do next.”

He couldn't sense his mind and deception like humans so easily let themselves known, all the while not being part of Lar’s own breed, a stranger to the hive. 

“I trust you will report back with your duties fulfilled,” he shot back at him. 

Finally content with being alone and not following the wildcard, Lar went to his desk and opened the low drawer where he kept the registry of recruited Sun Hunters. The pages were worn and yellowing in the leather-bound book, the handwriting changed over the centuries but the thoroughly noted names and dates were reliable. He went over the recorded past century and added the year of 2014 on the last line. He hesitated. Perhaps if the girl wasn't fit to be a hunter they would need to find a more suitable candidate. 

He sat in front of the ten year-old computer and waited for the system to boot up and rapidly keyed in the confidential key. It was no official program but it gave access to everyone’s criminal files. After a few minutes reading the low-resolution pages in green text over black background, he turned off the display and got up.

He could sense her regular bloodbeat, and her physical presence still in the living area of the compound, unmoving. She was asleep or near it. Lar left his work space to check the storage room for food and other non-perishable goods destined for human guests. 

As soon as he opened the gate he felt something rubbing against his feet and a soft purr tried to get his attention. Lar picked up a small can of tuna and put its contents into a plate for the striped gray cat. It calmed down as it ate and left Lar alone to his inspection. There was enough to drink, and a shelf half full with canned meals and fruits. He checked an unmarked cardboard box and found that it contained chocolate protein bars. He didn’t know who had added them but the expiring date was recent. 

Sometimes Eve had access to the lair to use the coffee machine or the microwave oven. He knew it because the smells of warmed up processed foods would fill the entire floor and remind him of a time when he used to eat like a human. It was hundreds of years ago, and it revived the ghost feeling of a hungry stomach he no longer had.

The last boxes he checked were empty. Lar frowned at the prospect of having to restock on food and mixing up with looters to visit markets and stores. Even after living for a thousand years he was not exempt from “shopping” for groceries. He placed the lifeless and sometimes headless bodies of killed mice into bag for disposal. 

Amaya’s presence was disruptive even for a well-fed strigoi with no interest in hunting humans. They hadn’t had strangers among them in a long time and he worried she might encounter the Ancients again, should she wander alone. They would not be so passive as the first time.

Lar got back towards her room, hearing her pulse through the walls like a pendulum clock. He rapped his knuckles at her door.

She was awake, having removed her thick coat but still wearing layers on top of her clothes. Her black hair fell in curls around her oval face and fading makeup made her eyes look deep-set in their orbits.

“What do you want?” she flatly shot at him, holding the door ajar.

Lar couldn’t stop an annoyed growl at her tone. 

“Come with me, I will tell you what’s going on.”

Thankfully she followed without objecting and picked up her backpack before leaving the room. He noted that she flicked the switch to turn off the light as he walked away.

“Couldn’t get a signal down here,” she said to him, consulting a touchscreen phone as she kept up the pace. “How do you guys… Nevermind.”

He met her blank expression as she squinted her eyes shut and began to yawn.

“We use wired phone lines if we do need to make calls. Have you not slept at all?”

She shook her head and wiped her right eye with a downward tilted mouth. He waited and she finally gave him a reply.

“Sorry if I need time to process losing my mother and everything I know in this life.”

Lar considered her answer and adjusted his reaction so as to appear more understanding. Hunters needed to feel like they belonged together, they all shared a common past of loss and pain.

“Tell me,” he said, walking a more comfortable pace for the short woman. “Your mother, was she attacked?”

“She’s dead,” bluntly said Amaya. “I avenged her but that doesn’t change anything now, does it.”

Lar cringed his molars. “Strigoi contaminate their victims by blood transfer or a simple scratch of the skin. An infected individual could take hours or days until they turn. Even a dead victim will turn if the head isn't severed.”

Her silence let him presume that her mother would require some dispatching soon enough.

“Why is this even happening?” she softly asked, almost to herself.

“All your questions will be answered,” Lar assured her. “I will show you everything we know so far.”

She entered his work space with wide brown eyes as she discovered the archive, the antique desks, the old backboard with scribbled chalk notes in dead languages. Lar closed the door so as not to let their conversation disrupt the Ancients.

“A library?” she spoke to him with a skeptical face. 

“Our records,” he corrected, “although most of them are labeled as fiction and legend.”

With her backpack slung over one shoulder she walked between the book shelves and Lar waited by his desk, hoping this would distract her from the dark time she was going through.

“So these are all about your kind, or something?”

“Stories and studies about the creatures of the night that feed on human blood, yes.”

She let out a chuckle. “Please tell me there’s no Twilight in here.”

He raised a hairless brow. “I don’t know that reference.”

“Doesn't matter, I hate that stuff anyway.” She ran her fingertips along the edge of a shelf and looked at a dry stain. “What the…”

“That is bat feces.”

Her shoulders dropped as she looked back at him, unamused.

“I don’t have any tissues… Do you have a bathroom or something?”

This type of accident was inevitable and keeping the records clean was part of his daily work. He opened the top drawer and handed her a pack of disinfectant wipes which she gladly accepted.

“So, you’re all vampires,” she reflected, taking a seat at one of the desks for studying. “Evidently some are more civilized than others, so the really gross, savage ones? How do you call them?”

“Strigoi.” Lar came to sit opposite from her, satisfied that she was being calm and collected. “There are levels of sentience from how we are created. The common element is the vulnerability to sunlight and silver, and the need to drink blood.”

She went silent but she kept her face stern and hard when she asked her next question.

“And you bleed white, like aliens…”

Looking down at his hand on the table Lar took a breath before explaining, not knowing if she truly cared for the reasoning.

“Our kind has existed since the dawn of time, the antithesis to humanity. Without humans, we would all die.”

Small lines marked the space between her eyebrows. “You’re saying that the strigoi existed alongside us and we’re seeing them only now?”

“You see us now because this outbreak is exceptionally violent and visible. The Ancient who is responsible for this, he calls himself the Master, will not stop the infections until all of humanity falls under his command.”

“Everyone?”

“Those who defy him become turned to serve him, those willing to comply become pawns and eventually provide more blood from the rest of the humans.”

She leaned her elbows on the wooden tabletop and scratched her scalp. 

“Alright, so where do you stand in all of this? If you defy the Master, how do you not serve him in some way? I mean, you drink blood, don’t you?”

“Only from necessity, and we never drink women and children, unlike the Master and his vile creations. We will put a stop to this invasion.”

She interrupted again. “What about the army? Can't humans just shoot them down and be done with it?”

Her pulse was elevated while a slight tremor in her voice told Lar she was beginning to understand the dire situation. 

“They can, and they should. But this city is far from prepared. Its people are unarmed, put too much faith in the authorities and they can’t deal with an invasion of this scale. That’s why we have to step in.”

She nodded and set her eyes on him. “You have guns.”

Lar smirked at her. “A few.”

“And how many are you?” she asked, still skeptical.

Lar backed up in his seat and did a quick recount. They were twelve, not mentioning the human servants and allies who were not specialized in combat. 

“Not enough,” he replied. “We have been hiding from the face of the world to preserve the peace and balance between humans and strigoi. The balance is now broken and we need the help of people like you.”

Resting her chin in her palm she listened with caution and portrayed boredom.

“So you picked up a small-time drug dealer off the street based on what? My skills with a steel pipe?” She paused while he studied her provocative demeanor. “Besides, I did my time and moved on from that crap. I needed to pay for my studies and wouldn’t put that burden on my mom.”

Her mouth pressed up and she frowned with a surge of emotions as she moved away from the table and crossed her arms over her breasts. Lar looked down and tried to speak respectfully.

“What the Ancients decide is not ours to question. Their wisdom is beyond our understanding, sometimes.”

The look she gave back at him was puzzled and she shook her head in disbelief, but not defiance. He begun to understand. She was headstrong, lonely, a quick wit and not afraid to get her hands dirty.

“We have no choice,” she murmured, bitterness staining her expression. “If this is a nightmare I’m not gonna lay down and die in it.”

“You're in shock,” he cautiously explained, “but I need to make sure you know that all of this is real. I am real.”

“Okay, whatever you say, good guy vampire not from Twilight.”

Lar pushed himself up and let out a rumble. 

“Since you're not taking this seriously I will show you something that might interest you.”

He brought her to the armory. Opening the locked steel gate he let her through the door and let her take in the sights. Rows of shelves holding ammunition, explosive equipment, body armor, tactical vests and webbing to hold pouches, accessories. The weapons were hung on the walls: from eighteen round semi-automatic CZ SP-01 pistols, to short-range shotguns and submachine guns. The Sun Hunters main weapon for strigoi hunting was the CZ Evo3 Scorpion 9mm carbine, a brand new model. Lar was proud to have brokered a deal with the manufacturer in the Czech Republic and had their arsenal recently updated. 

Amaya looked at this with contained amazement. If she was impressed, Lar was left guessing as she displayed no change of mood and remained bitter in her tone. He opened a drawer from the steel cabinets and picked up a small sized pair of leather gloves. She stood next to a glass display of silver bullets and darts. 

“You know, I never went to a shooting range or anything, I can barely reload a gun the right way.”

“It's easy to learn.” 

He showed her to a workbench and pulled out the pistol from his holster, noticing her eyes following his each and every move. He instructed how to release the magazine, how to reload and pull the cocking mechanism. Showed her where the safety was. He would save the dismantling and maintenance lesson for another time. 

“Now you do it.”

He put the gun on the table and she waited a second before taking it. Lar kept watchful of her breathing and nervousness. Slender hands held the weapon without hesitation, barely leaving any trace of sweat on the dark metal. She had the confidence of someone who had practiced basic gun safety, in her case in order to defend d herself. Lar watched closely. If she tried anything stupid, she was within arm's reach and his reflexes wouldn't allow her much wiggle room to escape. 

“You're left-handed,” she said, inspecting the make and inscriptions on the side of the weapon. “Makes it easier for me to mirror you.”

He found himself smiling at her observation and she flawlessly repeated what he instructed. When she was done she placed the gun between them, her expression now lightly satisfied. 

“Now I'm taking you to our shooting range,” he said handing her the gloves. 

“Cool. Do you use life-size cutouts of Edward Cullen for target practice?”

She was chuckling at her own humor and Lar found himself rumbling irritably at her banter. They walked down a flight of stairs and reached the training grounds. The wide hall was vaste enough that darkness engulfed almost half of it. It was difficult for a human to see anything let alone behind the pillars supporting the balconies overlooking the hall. 

“So what am I supposed to shoot?” asked Amaya, looking at the pistol he was lending to her. 

Lar stayed silent and held the buckle of his tactical belt. Soon enough, the smell and sound of her bloodbeat would attract her first target. 

“We keep a few of them here for studying,” he answered. 

The infected had turned many weeks ago and no longer retained any sign of humanity. Completely bald, black eyes deep-set and filthy gray skin marked it as an obvious threat. It grunted as it wobbled between the pillars and Amaya gasped, raising the gun up align the sights on the strigoi. It was at roughly a hundred feet from them. 

“Wait for it to come within range-” he began to say. 

She pressed the trigger and shot it square in the head. She let out a surprised breath. 

“Beginner's luck,” she exclaimed. 

Lar narrowed his eyes. “Stay alert, the sounds will draw in more of them.”

He heard the chittering interest coming from the darkness and labored stinger breaths coming their way. 

There were four more strigoi in the pit. She braced her shoulders and set her feet apart before taking aim again. She shot down the next two staggering strigoi that came in rushing for a drink of her, then Lar lowered to his knees and dropped into the pit himself as the last two of them approached, completely ignoring him and set to attack Amaya. 

“What are you doing?” she shouted at the edge of panic. 

He heard a few shots fired but missed and the strigoi began to run. 

Lar pulled out his curved dagger and swung the blade at the knees of the first rabid strigoi. It fell and screeched with panic as white blood and worms pooled beneath it. The second strigoi jumped over Lar, hoping to lunge at Amaya. Lar reached up and grabbed its foot, pulled down to slam it to the ground. He let out a grunt of effort as he put a knee over its chest, and held it down by the collar. 

The stinger shot out of its mouth and Lar dodged it at the last second. It retracted but he caught it just in time. He heard Amaya gasping at the scene, horrified at the snapping maw trying to take a bite out of Lar. Holding it with a tight grip, he stepped up and pulled out the fanged protuberance until it detached from its host with wet splattering sounds of flesh being torn off from bones.

He tossed the stinger aside to let it desperately wiggle on the concrete floor. One strigoi was left crawling, oblivious of what impending doom awaited. 

Lar placed a boot and pressed on its back to stop it, yet it continued to claw on the floor to get to her. He looked up at his trainee. 

“Do you think you can do what I just did?”

She had her gun pointed at the unclean under his foot, shaking more in her voice than her arms. 

“You're obviously in much better shape than I am,” she commented. “I don't have that kind of strength.”

Lar felt his mouth twist up from one corner and looked down at the downed strigoi, directing his knife at its neck. 

“Fair enough,” he said, and sliced the back of its head. 

“And before you say anything, I didn't shoot those last two because you looked like you wanted to show me your skills.”

Lar stepped off from the corpses and eyed her suspiciously before going over the torn out stinger and proceeded to cut it in half. He swiftly climbed out of the pit. 

“You will have your chance to prove yourself soon enough.” He held out his palm for his pistol. 

Amaya studied him thoughtfully before realizing that she was still holding the weapon. 

“Oh, sorry.”

Lar holstered the gun. “You wouldn’t show me your hand-to-hand skills. That only tells me I have a fair chance against you, should you try anything.”

Standing still and closing her fists, she looked back at him. 

“What if I’m just being modest?”

Lar kept his laugh to himself and extended an arm to turn her around and lead her back to the headquarters. He removed his hand from her back as soon as she started walking.

“I’ll grant you this one. Maybe you have other skills we can use in this war.”

Her attention was straight ahead and in the darkness her face looked almost as pale as his own. 

“Depends if you have a high speed internet connection.”

Squinting, he pressed his lips together wishing she hadn’t said that.

“I noticed you brought a computer…”

Nodding, she bit her lower lip and exhaled tiredly. “People and other inmates kept assumed I worked on the streets to sell merchandize, but that’s not how modern drug-dealing works. There’s the dark web, cryptocurrency, alternative chemicals that aren’t exactly illegal…”

The look he gave her made her change the subject. He had no interest in what had caused her to get arrested.

“I need to figure out what's going on,” she explained, earnest. “If it's happening in other parts of the world or if this is indeed a nightmare.”

He knew she hadn't been drinking, he'd destroyed the bottle, but if she was using some form of medication she would have to tell him. 

“Are you on drugs?” he flatly asked her. 

Stopping, she frowned and snickered. 

“I have to pee in a cup once a month each time I report to my parole officer. So no, I'm not on drugs. Not even ibuprofen. My period pains are a blast…” She paused and her eyes went blank. “Not that I'm suggesting that I'm going to be unreliable when I'm ragging. I don't look forward to it either, I mean… with the blood smells and all that. And vampires everywhere. Ouch.”

“I'm starting to experience a headache myself,” he muttered as he resumed their way back to the archive. 

She caught up to him and dug her hands in her pant pockets. 

“Can you guys feel pain?”

He pushed the door open for her to enter and she waited beside him until he answered her question. Flaring his nostrils with a deep breath, Lar set his eyes on her curious face. 

“You shouldn't be afraid to inflict pain on your enemy. Those we fight are driven by hunger and power. They feed on death and destruction of all humans. Remember that.”

She nodded once and went back to the desk where she had left her backpack. While she was setting up her things on the table, Lar retrieved the issue of cryptobiology written in the fourteenth century about strigoi and other monstrosities found in central Europe. When he came back to her she was rummaging through his desks and found a roll of white cable. 

“This must be my lucky day,” she commented with a smirk. “Twenty feet of ethernet cable. And there's a fibre optic internet modem in here.”

He set down he old, leather-bound book on the desk next to her laptop and blew a sigh. 

“All the answers you need are here.” He split the pages and turned a few before finding the relevant chapters. “Strigoi anatomy.”

Once she finished plugging up her device she looked at the finely detailed colored illustrations from olden times and her lower lip dropped with wonder. Thin black eyebrows raised with surprise. 

“No penis? What is this… Like an organic robot?”

Lar grunted exasperatedly and pointed at the proboscis in the chest of the drawn strigoi. 

“You should be looking at the stinger.”

She gasped. “ _ That's _ where the penis went?” Then produced a drawn-out whine of disgust. “Ewwwwww…”

His faith in her seriousness faded when she looked at him and sized him up with alarmed mockery. 

“It's a parasite,” he corrected half-heartedly, sensing the interest she was taking in his physical traits. “The genital organs are shed during the transformation since strigoi reproduce via parasitic transfer. They also lose their lungs and human digestive system.”

“And all their hair,” she continued, leaning down on the table to look at the book, carefully turning the fragile pages. “Because you're technically dead?”

“Because of high body temperature and skin cells changing to resist that transformation.”

“So why the pointy ears?” she smiled. 

Lar mirrored her smile and his attention wandered towards her back and he noticed the curve of her body in that position. He quickly focused back on the drawings and shook his head. 

“There are speculations that the first strigoi evolved from demonic creatures, or animals similar to bats.”

She thoughtfully looked up at the ceiling. “Hence the bats in this library.”

“We keep them for pest control.”

Her smirk reappeared as she stood straight again. “Most people have cats for that.”

“That's why ours stays in the storage unit.”

Her big brown eyes widened. “You have a cat?”

“Please focus on research for now.” He was growing impatient. “If you need food I'll show you where to get it.” Pausing, he noted the slight pout of disappointment she was making. He tried not to cringe his teeth too much. “Then you can meet the cat.”

“You're alright, Lar,” she smiled as she spoke. “Jail was a little worse than this. You couldn't have pets there.”

He squinted again. There was something about her smile that was hiding her true feeling even though she was relaxed and calm. Too calm, all things considered.

“This is not prison,” he tentatively said. “But the world is changing, Amaya. If you leave here you must be prepared to fight for your life.”

She sucked in a breath and turned to switch on her computer. She bit her thumb nail and typed in a password before giving him a furtive look.

“I wish we had a heads up before this all happened,” she reflected. “Maybe my mom would still be alive then. She’s a fighter.  _ Was _ …”

He heard her sigh as he turned his attention away. Human feelings made him uncomfortable and he didn’t have anywhere to put himself without inciting a reaction. He had to remain stoic and focus on his task.

“You should sit down for what I have to tell you,” he simply told her.

“What?” she spoke back, standing even straighter, taking a step forward. 

Lar closed the ancient book and as he breathed in he caught the scent of her, subtle and feminine although masked by hair product and slight perspiration. 

“Once a victim is turned into a strigoi, they seek out their loved ones in order to infect them. It is the primal instinct of the parasite, an undeniable urge to spread and reproduce. It uses human emotions for its own purpose.”

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Okay,” she breathed out. “You’re trying to tell me that my mom will wake up from the dead as a vampire and come after me?”

“Yes. But there’s little chance that she would track your scent all the way here. Perhaps in a few weeks time.”

She scratched her scalp and brought her curly locks behind her ears and cleared her throat, losing whatever confidence she had mustered.

“So, when she does find me, what can I do?”

“She won’t be herself anymore,” he insisted, trying to gently break down all hope she retained in saving her mother. “She is gone. Those infected by the Master’s parasite are not like me or Quinlan. They are mindless, braindead. The humane way to take care of them is to end them.”

Her eyes wandered left and right for a moment before she replied.

“Like we took care of those strigoi earlier.”

She ran her hand over her face and finally sat down. He saw the tears overflowing in her lids. He could sense the heat climbing on her cheeks.

“They ran passed by you and didn’t even look at you, they came straight for me. Is that what mom- what she’s going to do?”

“They wanted your blood, and to turn you. It’s what the Master wants. Your mother’s body is corrupted, that’s what you must remember.”

Sniffling, she nodded and brought her head back up. Her eyes were red and wet. “Did you ever do something like that? Kill someone who loved you?”

Having not expected to do a recall of his past life, Lar took a moment of his own. Remembering with effort the first time he had dealt with strigoi. His chest tightened as he recollected the memories, the emotions that flowed through him suddenly. He sat down next to her. 

“It was a very long time ago, somewhere in Estonia, when I was about your age. An outbreak reached the town where I lived, my family fled with many others but at the time we didn't know the symptoms of the infection.”

He paused for her to understand his tale, and for him to manage the anger and sadness that began to fill his mind. He breathed in and finished. 

“People started turning and were rounded up to be burnt at the stake with the help of sunlight. The priest who helped us escape believed that if he said enough prayers, and sent enough strigoi to hell that we would be spared by God. He made us go from village to village to gather all of the sick and have them burnt, all of them only had a common cold. He wouldn't allow us to kill the rare strigoi on the spot, so a lot of good people died because of him. My father was first to turn, then he infected my mother and my three siblings.”

He had to stop. His lips were trembling and he was unable to remember the past without feeling the rage build up inside of him. He closed his fists tightly and straightened his face. 

“The priest forced me to torture them with silver and sunlight. I snapped and killed him instead. The entire village had gone to ashes and that's when Vaun and the Ancients found me. They helped me and my family find peace.”

Amaya blankly stared in the distance and a tear rolled down her left cheek. 

“He forced you to kill all those people… but you avenged them.”

Her gaze judged him with not pity but some measure of admiration. Lar found the courage to keep talking. 

“Even though I wasn't infected, I knew I had turned into a monster of a different kind. With so much blood on my hands I couldn't go on living.”

“So you turned into… a  _ good _ strigoi?”

“I accepted to be turned by the Ancients, to serve as a keeper of balance between life and death.” He blinked away the blur that kept him from looking back at her. “When the moment comes, and if you need help I will assist you, like others did for me.”

She used her sleeve to dry her face and nodded gratefully. 

“Thank you. But you don't have to do so much for me… there's a lot to do like cleaning up the city, for starters.”

Lar nodded and felt a weight lift off his shoulders. 

“I need you to know what it takes to fight in this war. But we're in it together regardless of differences.”

She parted her lips after eyeing him, pensive. 

“It's been so long since a stranger supported me that I can't help but feel suspicious. I'm not used to being on the right side of anything. Haven't made friends in a while either.”

Lar could feel the discomfort growing again and this time nothing stopped him from putting some distance between them. 

“Maybe you could make friends with the cat down at the storage room while you eat.”

Her amused smile was a sign that she would agree to follow him yet again.

If she was not used to playing with a team, then she could understand that he wasn't used to having anyone share his innermost feelings. No one had heard his story aside from Vaun and a few other Sun Hunters. Telling it again after many centuries had opened up a wound that had long scarred but never healed. 


End file.
